


Anything for You

by AstralDragons



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Angst, Angst Prompt: am I dying?, Blood and Injury, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Magic, Rare Pairings, Swearing, emetophobia warning, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 03:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16547978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstralDragons/pseuds/AstralDragons
Summary: Angst prompt: "Am I dying?"Or, Rhajat attempts to save Ophelia's life out in the middle of nowhere.





	Anything for You

“Am I dying?”

 

Rhajat winces at the question. She’s kneeling in the muddy grass, ignoring the cold, uncomfortable squishing against her legs. A hasty tearing of her cloak—shame, it was her favorite one, but this wasn’t the time to mourn such things—and then she tightly presses the material against the gash in Ophelia’s stomach.

“No. No, because if you die, I’ll curse you,” Rhajat replies sharply.

Ophelia blinks sluggishly, staring down her chest—Rhajat’s pale fingers seem snow-white against the slick crimson sputtering from her abdomen. There is… so much blood. She’s no cleric, but that’s definitely not a good sign.

“Mmm… soundssss fake but okay,” Ophelia slurs, her brows furrowing.

“Just shut up and let me help you.”

Ophelia’s frown deepens. “Rhajaaaat…?”

Rhajat growls quietly before looking up from attempting to wrap up the wound, trying to ignore the way the blood is still gushing, the cloth is soaking rapidly, her fingers are coated with red, her vision is spinning—

She takes a deep, shaken breath. Her vision steadies once more. “What, Ophelia?”

There’s a long moment of silence before the sorceress finally speaks up again. “Can… can you tell Father that I love him…? Mother too, of course.”

Rhajat stiffens, shooting Ophelia a harsh glare. “Tell them yourself. You’re not dying.”

Ophelia huffs quietly, turning her gaze up to the sky. So overcast— she hadn’t necessarily had any expectations for the weather on her death day, but a sunrise or a sunset would have been nice. Maybe even a rainbow.

“An’ tell… tell Nina ‘m sorry for reading her diary,” Ophelia mumbles. “I was curious but it was a rude thing to do. And… I’m super. Super sorry for accidentally knocking over one of Miitama’s ink bottles, mm…”

“Stop. Ophelia, you’re being dramatic again, so knock it off.”

Rhajat refuses to meet Ophelia’s gaze. Her hands are clenched together, forcing pressure upon Ophelia’s wound.

_Gods, why couldn’t I have been a cleric…?!_

“Rhaajat.”

An involuntary shudder runs up Rhajat’s spine. “What.”

“Look ‘t me.”

Rhajat forces her gaze to settle on Ophelia’s pale face. Those gray eyes, ordinarily so full of spunk and mischief, reflect the somber, dark-gray sky. Their sheer lack of energy nearly forces Rhajat to look away, but she holds steady.

Ophelia shoots Rhajat a weak smile, doing her best to ignore the uncomfortable sensation of thick, searing blood bubbling up from her throat, dribbling down her chin because she can’t force herself to swallow it back down.

Rhajat thinks she can feel her own heart stop.

She swallows thickly, tempted to reach forward and swipe the trail of blood from Ophelia’s face, but… well. Her hands are occupied at the moment, and even if they weren’t, she would only be getting more blood on the sorceress’ face.

“’Phelia, take it easy. Just—“

“Nooo,” Ophelia groans, shaking her head loosely. “You gotta… listen.”

“I’m listening.”

Ophelia sighs, her eyelids drooping dangerously low. “’m sorry… I wanted to tell you sooner, and… at sunset. Purple orchids ‘cause you like ‘em. Sweets from Asugi…”

Rhajat’s face turns to an expression of dismay. “Ophelia, no, c’mon. You need to focus on—“

 

_“I love you.”_

 

Rhajat’s entire world goes still, like she’s deep underwater, she can’t catch her breath because it’s caught in her throat while her lungs claw for oxygen.

 

Her lip quivers.

Her eyes water dangerously.

And then the stillness is broken, sound and air and reality all rushing back in all at once.

“…at. Rhajaaaat…?”

“Gods, you have the shittiest sense of timing,” Rhajat croaks, pressing down harder upon the wound. “Of course you had to tell me this now—“

“Do youuu… love me too?”

Rhajat tenses up.

Ophelia does her best to pull a stern face, despite the fact that her eyes feel like they’re wandering as her vision goes fuzzy. “Be honest, not jus’… to make me feel better. Or I won’t forgive you.”

Rhajat gives a dry, weak attempt at a laugh. “Sounds fake, but okay.”

Ophelia’s lip shakily pulls up into a pout. “I’ll haunt you. Don’t think I w-won’t…” She trails off and shudders, another stream of blood seeping from the corner of her lips.

“No, no, I know you would,” Rhajat mumbles, her gaze drifting back to the wound her hands are currently covering.

There’s another long moment of silence. Rhajat’s vision blurs, clouded up with frustratingly-large tears. Once again, she wishes that her hands could be free, and not soaked in blood, in order to swipe the offending tears away.

“…Yeah. I love you too, ‘Phelia.”

 

There's no response.

 

Rhajat’s gaze snaps back to Ophelia’s face, a sharp hiss escaping her throat at the sight of Ophelia’s closed eyes. Peaceful, almost like she’s fast asleep—

“’Phelia? Ophelia, wake up, damn it! I told you not to pass out on me!“

 

Ophelia doesn’t respond.

 

She doesn’t respond when Rhajat presses harder on the wound, shakes her, begs for her to wake up. Rhajat all but slams her ear against Ophelia’s lips, trembling.

 

A faint wisp of air brushes against Rhajat’s face, a tiny rasp just barely making itself heard, but it brings her little comfort. Ophelia won’t last much longer, not like this—and she doubts that a healer will be coming along anytime soon. She can’t move Ophelia, either; that’s practically asking for Ophelia to bleed out faster, or to cause her even more internal damage.

Rhajat frantically looks around

 _C’mon, think, dammit! You’re supposed to a prodigy, right? You might not know healing magic, but there has to be_ something _you can—_

Her eyes catch on her tome, cast aside in favor of helping Ophelia. And then her gaze flicks downward, noting the blood soaking her hands.

 

_Blood magic. Life force energy._

 

_It’s risky as hell, but…_

_Gods help me, it might just work._

 

Rhajat keeps one hand firmly pressed down on Ophelia’s wound, reaching the other out to snatch up the dirtied tome on the ground. Ordinarily, she would be so horribly enraged by the mud staining the pages, or cringe at the blood dripping onto the pages as she frantically flips towards the back of the book—but this time, she can’t bring herself to be bothered. A familiar pulse of dark energy brushes against her mind like a cat’s tail, shaped into a question mark. Rhajat can feel the blood rushing in her ears.

In a wordless, frantic response, she snatches the tendril of energy up with her mind, guiding it deeper and deeper, deeper than her natural reservoir of magic, right into her very core.

Her breath catches.

_Take it._

Her body is quaking like a leaf.

_Save her. Just save her. Speed up the healing—use as much as you need._

Rhajat’s body goes rigid—and then a scream tears itself from her throat as a searing surge of magic rushes through her veins, scalds her bones, rips at her flesh.

Everything _hurts_.

 

But she can feel it.

She can see a soft, silver glow coming from Ophelia, can feel its weakening pulse. Her own body is filled with energy, her hands searing-hot from the swirling, purple storm within.

 

Rhajat guides her palms to the dying, silver light, another surge of agony rushing through her as the energy eagerly floods into Ophelia’s body. Blood rushes between the two of them, blood flowing into Ophelia, veins and arteries knitting themselves back together, tissues clotting and sealing, broken flesh awkwardly knitting itself back together into a messy, misshapen scar.

 

And finally, _finally_ … the silvery pulse throbs, its glow strengthening. Rhajat feels a wave of awe surging over her as her aura surrounds the glow, cupping around it, holding it in her formless hands.

It’s so warm. So comforting. Bright and bold and so undoubtedly belonging to Ophelia.

An odd kind of sigh escapes Rhajat’s lips, breathing against this silvery flame that reminds her of the full moon at its brightest. The breath appears to agitate and stoke the flame, its warmth growing, the brightness increasing until it’s almost too strong to look at.

 

The surge of energy, she can’t feel it anymore.

It’s dark but warm—and she’s so, so tired.

Rhajat vaguely registers her sense of balance skewing as she topples over like a ragdoll, her stomach protesting violently against her overexertion. She’s trembling like a leaf and huddling up as her stomach finally purges its contents, hot and vile and draining her already-waning strength, but—

 

Oh, gods.

She knows those slim, delicate fingers and their surprising strength—one hand is keeping Rhajat’s raven hair out of her face, and the other is firmly clutching her shoulder, preventing her from rolling onto her back.

A low, raw sob escapes her throat—full of joy and relief, so much relief, and oh gods it all hurts so much but it’s _Ophelia_ —and she manages to crack her eyes open.

Ophelia looks like an angel, a worried angel hovering over Rhajat. Her golden hair is filthy, splattered with mud and blood like everything else in this damned field, but she looks utterly _radiant_ in Rhajat’s blurry vision.

“Oh gods, Rhaj, are you alright? What did you do?!”

“’M fine,” Rhajat giddily croaks, her body trembling as she forces herself to try and sit upright. “’M fine—you’re okay, I’m… I’m okay, _we’re_ okay—“

Rhajat’s world spins briefly as Ophelia yanks her to sit upright, her slender arms locking around Rhajat’s back in a spine-crushing hug.

“You used too much magic, didn’t you? Oh for— Rhaj, don’t you ever… _ever_ do that again—!“

Rhajat’s arms quake as she returns Ophelia’s embrace. She buries her face against Ophelia’s shoulder, a muffled, tearful chuckle escaping her lips.

“Only as long as you don’t scare me like that again, you damned ditz. I thought I was going to lose you.”

The stiffness slowly drains from Ophelia’s shoulders, and she, too, buries her face against Rhajat. She sniffles quietly, giving Rhajat another squeeze. “Th-the chosen one nev… never dies, right? Wasn’t gonna leave you…”

“I sure hope not,” Rhajat grumbles, though her tone is lacking any of its usual gruffness. “Not after a confession like that—I would’ve had to curse your spirit if you’d just left me after that.”

Ophelia tenses up ever so slightly, her head pulling away just enough so that she can anxiously peer down at Rhajat’s mop of hair buried against her shoulder.

“I… um. Right—ah…”

She clears her throat sheepishly, her cheeks flushing an uncomfortable red. “You… you said you, um. Liked… liked me too? Or was I just imagining—?”

Rhajat snorts softly, lifting her head. Her gaze steadily meets Ophelia’s, exhausted as she is.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

Ophelia sheepishly bites her lip, swallowing thickly as she slowly tucks her face against Rhajat once more.

“I… that’s… that’s a relief. That’s good.”

Rhajat hums, closing her eyes and snuggling closer into Ophelia’s embrace.

“I’d kiss you or whatever sappy nonsense, but your mouth is all bloody and I just threw up.”

“Ah,” Ophelia’s nose crinkles as she lets out a strangled laugh. “You’re… you’re right. We need to… to find the others, get cleaned up… Then, um. Then maybe…?”

“Yeah. Then we can kiss, and uh,” Rhajat clears her throat, ignoring the dry, bitter sting in her mouth, as well as the overbearing warmth in her face. “…Date, I. I think.”

 

“I’d… I’d like that a lot, Rhaj.”

 

The two remain huddled up with each other in the field for what feels like an eternity, not even seeming to mind as a light, chill drizzle washes over them both. Rhajat would eventually find the strength to get up—and to later complain about her ruined tome—and the two later made their way out of the winding forest.

To everyone else in the army, the two looked like they’d come fresh out of hell, all soaked and muddied and splattered with red all over their tattered clothing… but they walked into camp that evening with triumphant smiles on their faces, arms slung over each other’s shoulders.

 

They were _alive._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this far!  
> If you enjoyed this fic, feel free to drop kudos/a comment-- both are excellent motivators.
> 
> If you like my work and want to see more, my writing Tumblr blog is @smolgoodragon.  
> And if you're feeling particularly generous, here's my Ko-fi page, where you can leave me a tip: http://ko-fi.com/goodra  
> Every little bit helps! Affording food and basic necessities allows me to have more time to produce more content for your enjoyment.  
> I appreciate any and all support!


End file.
